You Machine
by FugitiveSGA
Summary: Alright! I caved in and posted a couple more chapters of this due to several PM's requesting same. It has definitely become M Rated, so please be aware of this! Sherlock/John action aplenty. And if you are not comfortable with the concepts of androids and humans getting it on, tune out now, please! Lestrade hears Sherlock call John a 'machine' and jumps to a conclusion.
1. Chapter 1

Greg Lestrade was lifting his hand to knock on the door of 221B Baker Street, London, when a bustle of floral prints and the out-of-character scent of 'Arabian Nights' perfume assaulted his senses. Mrs Hudson looked up at him, surprised, and said, 'Oh, hello, dear. The boys are right upstairs, if you want to see them. Sorry, I can't stay… I have a train to catch.'

'Thanks, Mrs Hudson. See you later.'

'Later, dearie,' and she patted him fondly on the arm then walked off quickly.

Greg pushed the open door and walked in, then started up the stairs. He could hear Sherlock's voice, and the low tones of John saying something, and he was just about to call out to them when Sherlock said, in a loud voice, 'Oh, God, John, you're a machine!'

Greg froze, but only for a moment, then turned and tiptoed back down the stairs, and opened the door very quietly. He was obviously not quiet enough though, for just as he turned to cross the footpath to his car Sherlock's voice sounded from above him, 'Lestrade, what on Earth are you doing tiptoeing about my flat? Do you have a case for me? If so, I would suggest you come back up here at once!'

Greg opened his mouth, shut it, then said, 'Right, Sherlock. Hi. You'll have to let me back in, then.'

'John!' called Sherlock, and Greg walked back to the door and waited.

John Watson opened the door for him and gave him a quizzical look, 'Everything okay?' He was fully dressed and looked quite… relaxed. He was certainly not half-naked and still aroused, which Greg had been steeling himself to see. Greg nodded, confused.

'Hi, John. Ah, yeah, I forgot my… never mind.'

Sherlock peered down the stairs past John and leapt down to stare intently at Lestrade, then smiled, 'You heard me. You heard what I said to John.'

'Look, Sherlock, I don't care… I mean, that sort of thing, it's between… well….'

"Don't be ridiculous, Lestrade, I know you won't break confidence. Not on John, anyway.'

"God, Sherlock, it's not that. It's just what… people don't talk to each other about these sort of things,' Greg felt himself blushing, and looked at John Watson for backup, 'Right?'

John just frowned at him, then looked hopefully to Sherlock for clarification.

Sherlock said, 'They don't? But John's… he's… remarkable! Why shouldn't I want to tell you about that?'

'Shut up, Sherlock, just shut up about it!' snapped Greg, feeling the blush spread to his neck, 'I don't want to hear another word about it, and I would strongly suggest you don't go talking to anyone else about it, alright?'

He pushed past a nonplussed Sherlock and a half-grinning John, and walked up the stairs, 'I have a case for you, remember?'

Sherlock blinked and looked hopefully at John, but John just shook his head and smiled and followed Lestrade up the stairs, 'We'd better do as he says, Sherlock.'

Sherlock frowned, but followed them meekly.

Lestrade sat down, to his gratitude being offered a cup of tea for once by John, 'Kettle's just boiled.'

'Well, coffee if you don't mind, John. I've got time for once.'

John brought a huge red mug of coffee out and sat down next to Lestrade on the couch, facing Sherlock.

'Thanks.'

'Well sir, the details. Cold case?' Sherlock asked.

'How the devil did you know that?

'Quite simple, you just practically told me, 'I've got time for once,' also it's a Tuesday, quiet day on the murder scene usually, so you would have been checking over your cold cases for something to do. Am I wrong?'

'Oh, well, of course not, you're never wrong…' Greg's voice faded as Sherlock sat up abruptly, then leaned across and tapped John firmly on the nose. John just stared blankly at Sherlock.

'What the devil are you doing?' asked Greg.

'You didn't blink,' Sherlock accused John, then reached across and tapped Greg on the nose.

Greg flinched and said, 'Sherlock, will you piss off! What the hell are you up to?'

'He didn't blink,' said Sherlock smugly, then looked abruptly impatient with himself, 'Three months! Three months, it took me, to notice. By God, you are good, John. Tell Mycroft I said you'd pass.'

John stared at Sherlock, looking suddenly a little lost. Greg frowned, 'What?'

'Off you go then, go talk to Mycroft. I suppose he's asked you for a debriefing at this point?' said Sherlock dismissively to John, who nodded mutely. Sherlock's lips pursed, 'In that case, I expect he won't be sending you back at all. I'm sure he'll have better uses for you, now that he knows just how long you can stand up under scrutiny,' Sherlock's tone was light and amused, but to Greg it sounded a little forced. No, strike that… very forced.

John looked at the floor, and Greg said, 'Wait, WHAT? Sherlock, what the hell are you playing at?'

John stood, his movements looking oddly heavy, and walked towards the door.

'You heartless bastard, Sherlock!' exclaimed Greg, 'John, wait!'

'Oh, I'm not the heartless one,' smiled Sherlock coldly, 'Am I, John?'

John took one more look at Sherlock and walked down the stairs.

Greg jumped up and said, 'John, wait!' and ran after him, taking the stairs two at a time. He stopped John at the door and said, 'What the hell is going on? What, he's had you, and now he's throwing you out? Is that what this is?'

'Had me?' asked John, and Greg's heart went out to the other man when he saw the infinite sadness in those too-blue eyes.

'I heard you two, you know…' Greg hesitated, then braved on, 'Earlier, when you were… you know. I heard him call you a machine.'

'When we were what?'

'Oh, don't make me say it.'

'Then I will,' came Sherlock's voice from above them. Greg looked up to see Sherlock standing at the top of the stairs, 'He heard me call you a machine, John, and assumed we were engaged in sexual intercourse. Of course, under the circumstances, there was no reason for Lestrade to jump to any other conclusion. What took me three months to deduce, will probably take him a lifetime. Although, perhaps not your lifetime. What is it, anyway? A century or two? Three? Five?'

'Undetermined,' whispered John, and would have left, but Greg's hand was on his arm and he stayed where he was.

'I'd let him go, Lestrade, if he decides to move anyway you will end up with a shattered wrist,' warned Sherlock.

'Jesus Christ, can one of you tell me what the hell is going on here?' demanded Greg.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, 'I already did, Lestrade, twice. He's a machine. A machine sent by Mycroft to be my minder, when he found you couldn't keep up.'

'A machine? A killing machine? A mercenary?' asked Greg dubiously.

Sherlock's exasperation seemed to know no bounds, 'No! A MACHINE. What, are you stupid? Oh, sorry, yes. An android, a robot. A robot minder, courtesy of my big brother.'

Greg's hand fell from John's arm and he stared at them both in stupefied surprise. Eventually he found his voice, but addressed John instead of Sherlock, 'John, how long has he been delusional like this? Have you been hiding it from Mycroft?'

'Oh, for….' Sherlock huffed in disgust and disappeared back through the door.

Greg turned to John, who was looking up the stairs.

'John?'

John took a long time to answer, then said quietly, 'He's right.'

And he turned the too-blue eyes to Greg. Greg stared at John, wondering if he was going to have both Sherlock and John committed. But then the eyes looking at Greg changed. The dark blue irised out and behind it was…. Greg felt sick to his stomach. Behind the blue irises of John's eyes were another set of irises… silver and mechanical with overlapping leaves.

'Oh, Christ,' he breathed, feeling light-headed, 'You're a robot?'

John nodded sadly.

'Wait a minute,' floundered Greg, 'You're an _emotional_ robot? You have feelings?'

'Oh. Yes, quite strongly programmed for them,' sighed John, 'Helps with the disguise, you see.'

Greg closed his eyes, 'Damn. And they put you with Sherlock? That's harsh.'

'Not really,' responded John, 'Who would notice that I was a machine, next to him?'

'You were too perfect,' realised Greg, looking at John with new comprehension, 'Perfectly compassionate, perfectly ethical, always noticing other people's feelings and being there for them. I should have noticed.'

John nodded sadly, and Greg asked, 'But do you really feel all those things, John? Or is it all…'

'Just programming,' said John, but Greg Lestrade frowned and tilted his head as John looked back up to the top of the stairs with ineffable sadness on its face.

'I have to report back to Mycroft,' said John, and was gone. Greg stood at the bottom of the stairs for a long time, then looked up the stairs and slowly plodded back up. The cold case could wait. Somebody had to keep an eye on Sherlock, now that John was gone. It was an easy role for Greg to slip back into.

He walked back into the silent flat. Sherlock was standing at the window, watching John get into a cab below. Greg walked quietly up beside him, and they both stood there until the cab drove off. Sherlock turned away and said, 'Just go.'

'No, I'll stay the night,' said Greg, staring at the back of Sherlock's head.

There was a long, long silence, then Sherlock whispered, 'Thank you,' and walked away into his room.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Greg was sitting on the sofa amidst his blankets having a coffee, when he was startled out of a deep reverie by a soft baritone, 'You're doing that thing again.'

'Thinking?'

'Thinking very loudly.'

'He was programmed, Sherlock.'

'Of course. And?'

'He was programmed to Not Be Gay. Mycroft didn't want you getting too involved. Didn't want you getting hurt.'

Sherlock laughed bitterly, 'And what makes you think that a sexual relationship is the only relationship in which someone can get emotionally damaged… Greg?'

Greg looked up and smiled. It was the first time Sherlock had ever used his first name.

But the detective was looking thoughtful, 'He was programmed to protect me. That's all it was, when he shot the cabbie. His programming kicked in.'

Greg looked at him for a long time, then ventured, 'You fell for him anyway, didn't you?'

Sherlock stared at him, then sighed and said, 'How could I not? Mycroft has observed every relationship I ever had, he knows exactly what I like, physically, mentally… John was designed for me, Greg. Even if he did refuse to sleep with me, because of his programming, everything else about him was… perfect. How could I resist? I didn't even know I was supposed to resist, didn't know what he was. A thing. A machine.'

Greg huffed, 'And fully combat tested in Afghanistan before they let you have him. I guess Mycroft thought that was necessary, given your lifestyle….'

Sherlock sat down and put his head in his hands, and Greg said, 'What?'

'The worst thing about this, is… no matter how much I tell myself this is just another one of Mycroft's cruel jokes…. no matter that I know what John is… I miss him, Greg! I actually miss him. I'd grown accustomed to his… face!'

Greg smiled, wondering if Sherlock knew he was quoting Professor Higgins.

Sherlock glanced up and snapped at him, 'I don't care if you think that's funny, it's the truth!'

'I don't think it's funny, I'm going to miss him too,' protested Greg, and realised, yes, he was going to miss John. For as robots went, John was pretty much better than most of the real people Greg Lestrade had met. Especially in the job he did.

Sherlock sighed, 'But he won't come back.'

A quiet voice at the door said, 'What makes you say that?'

'John!' exclaimed Sherlock, a huge grin plastering itself across his face. In four strides he was across the room and grabbed John by the shoulders, spun him around, and stared at him, 'How did you get away from Mycroft?' Then another thought struck him, '_Why_ did you get away from Mycroft?'

'Ah… that's a long story. Sherlock, Greg… I need your help.'

'Oh?' asked Sherlock, his demeanour suddenly becoming more subdued as he looked at John.

'Know any really smart lawyers?' John asked Sherlock.

Sherlock tilted his head, and asked, 'Not really, but why… why are you back here? If all you want is legal advice….?' He was beginning to look disappointed. He let his arms slide slowly off John's shoulders.

'No. No, that's not all I want, Sherlock,' said John softly, and took Sherlock's arms back in his, 'If that's all I wanted, I'd be in Fleet Street right now, looking for law firms, not in Baker Street.'

Greg Lestrade was smiling. He wasn't quite sure why, but something about seeing the two of them back together seemed so right.

'You want legal status,' realized Sherlock.

'Ever seen a movie called Bicentennial Man?' asked John, 'I watched it last night, and it clarified a whole lot of things for me.'

'I haven't seen it,' said Sherlock, and looked to Greg who shook his head.

'It's about a highly advanced robot,' said John quietly, '…who has to fight for the legal status of being human, before he can act on how he feels.'

Sherlock stared at John for a long time, 'You'd be the world's only robot, who is a legal person. You'd be unique.'

'I already am unique, Sherlock. I'm the assistant to the world's only consulting detective.'

Sherlock stood looking at him, absorbing the words, 'You just used the present tense.'

'Damned right I did. Do you want the future tense as well? I'd like to keep doing… this, what we do, for as long as you'll let me.'

Sherlock released John, and strode over to his laptop. Greg Lestrade smiled, for he had noticed that although Sherlock's emotions might not show in his words or his face, they certainly showed in his body language. When John had reappeared, Sherlock had bounced across the room and been striding everywhere since. It was a far cry from the discouraged shuffle with which Sherlock had emerged from his bedroom only minutes before John's return.

'Up for some hacking of Mycroft's files on you, John?' Sherlock smiled at John, then looked at Greg.

'I'll make the coffee,' smiled Greg, and John walked over to lean over Sherlock's shoulder.

'What should we tackle first?' asked Sherlock, and Greg saw John lean down and whisper something in Sherlock's ear. Sherlock's grin broadened, and he said, 'Alright.'


	3. Chapter 3

Lestrade left a little later, happy to see John back with Sherlock. Machine or not, something about John drew people to him, and Sherlock did not seem immune, Lestrade had noticed. Besides, when it came to endless patience and immunity to a lack of sleep (and occasional deadly flying projectiles), it was hard to beat a robot. John had to be ahead in the race when coping with Sherlock.

Back at the flat, Sherlock went back to hacking Mycroft's files with an enthusiasm that John found endearing. The detective turned to him and said, 'Now…' and then gave a small smile and turned away to the computer again. John noticed the smile and felt a warm flush of approval that Sherlock was doing this for him. He stared at Sherlock's profile, so intent on the computer before him, his fingers flying across the keys, the blue glow of the screen saver occasionally lighting his face as he changed from program to program. Sherlock's face was pale, alabaster almost, unnaturally smooth. With his unusual features and pale skin, John found it amusing that it was not Sherlock who was the android… surely it would be easy for many people to take him for such; more so than they should John. John felt a rush of affection for Sherlock and suddenly found himself leaning forward to brush a stray lock of hair out of Sherlock's face so that the detective could see the computer screen better. John froze.

Sherlock turned to him and smiled, and John stared at the beautiful face, the pale grey eyes, lit with mischief, the aquiline nose, and the neatly curved lips. John found himself drawn in, leaning into Sherlock's personal space… then stopped himself with a jolt, 'You've reprogrammed me, haven't you?'

Sherlock smiled beatifically, 'Yes, it should be working- wait, why did you just stop?' He went back the keyboard, rattling away impatiently and occasionally glancing at John, 'Anything-oh… John….mmmf.'

John had suddenly leaned forward and captured Sherlock with one hand by the back of the head, pulling him into a kiss. He broke off enough to say breathlessly, 'I think it's working!' in a delighted tone of voice before bringing both hands around to the back of Sherlock's neck, locking his fingers in the curls there and pulling Sherlock to him with sudden passion.

Mycroft Holmes, in the Diogenes club, thankfully in his private office and not in the silent zone of the main lounge, spat his tea, 'What the devil?' He leaned forward and stared at one of his monitors. It showed Sherlock and John in a passionate lip lock at 221B. Mycroft swore, and said in a growling tone, 'Sherlock….' then hastily grabbed his laptop and started pummelling at the keys impatiently.

'You know what, Sherlock, this is really doing absolutely nothing for me,' decided John suddenly, and released the detective. 'Would you like a cup of tea?'

Sherlock stared at him dumbfounded for a second, then swore, 'Bloody Mycroft! Bugger off!' and glared up at one of the monitors high on the wall. Sherlock pounced on his laptop and began rattling the keys again.

His phone rang just as John came back and grabbed him, saying, 'What am I thinking, where were we?' and wrapped his arms around Sherlock.

'John, hang on, my phone….' Said Sherlock.

'Where is it?'

'Trouser pock- oh, God, yes, John…..' this last as John took his time retrieving the phone, rubbing his hands over the growing hardness in Sherlock's jocks through the thin interior cloth of both his trouser pockets.

Finally the phone was able to be answered, and Sherlock hissed, 'What, Mycroft?' into it.

'I can reprogram him as fast as you can,' Mycroft pointed out.

'Yes, but the British government can't run itself while you do so, and I have all the free time in the world at the moment, because I don't have a case. Oh, God, John, do that again.' This as John continued to rub his hands around Sherlock's hardness, then freed one hand to drift up and tweak a nipple through Sherlock's thin shirt.

Mycroft snapped, 'John Watson, stop that! He's not yours, Sherlock. He's mine.'

Sherlock's eyes lit with interest, but at the same time John, growing impatient with Mycroft and the call, pulled their bodies together and began to nip a train down Sherlock's neck. Sherlock moaned, but managed to tell Mycroft, 'It remains to be seen where John belongs, Mycroft. He seems quite happy to be here with me at the moment. Mmmm…. John.' John was unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt.

Mycroft hissed angrily, making John grin because he had just realized it was probably a family trait, and said, 'Send. Him. Back.'

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft with sudden realization, 'You wanted him for yourself, didn't you? You programmed him not to like men so that you could have him back… unsullied. It was nothing to do with protecting my sensitive… feelings,' the last word was said with a sneer, then a slight rise in pitch as John pushed Sherlock's shirt aside and began to lick enthusiastically at his nipples, 'Well you're not getting him, Mycroft. He's mine!'

'Sherlock,' came John's muffled voice, 'Do you have any idea how much hearing you say that, turns me on?' He pulled Sherlock's shirt off and began work on his trousers, all the while not letting go of the nipple he was nibbling at.

'Oh, God yes.'

'Ah, bollocks,' said John, 'Where's my tea?' He turned and walked away.

Sherlock gave a howl of rage and launched himself at the laptop, 'What did you do?'

'I can shut him down, you know,' threatened Mycroft, 'Permanently.'

'And I,' said Sherlock, 'Can finish what I started and simply… change his I.P. address and identification codes. Program him now, Mycroft.'

Mycroft swore vehemently, then laughed, 'You forget, Sherlock, he has an inbuilt microchip… dammit, what have you done?'

'Changed the transmission codes on his microchip so that they transform every second or two in accordance with his visual input ratings,' laughed Sherlock, 'Good luck finding his transmission stream now, Mycroft.'

'That's easy, he's still in the flat, it'll be the only transmission steam emanating from 221B. Wait, what are you doing?' Mycroft growled as Sherlock put something over the camera.

'Leaving the flat for a while,' came Sherlock's voice, as he walked around disabling the other cameras, 'And you'll never know when… or if, we come back. Come on, John, we're going out.'

'Sherlock Holmes, that's a British government asset you're stealing there!'

'Oh, don't concern yourself, Mycroft, I just intend to… enhance his programming for you.'

Sherlock hung up on his brother and collected John with a smile, then quickly put his shirt back on and donned his coat and scarf, 'Bring the laptop will you, John? We're going to Angelo's.'

'What about my cup of tea?'

'Angelo does better tea.'

'Alright then,' answered John, mollified.

Sherlock called a cab, so that he could use the laptop on the way to Angelo's. The cabbie was a little annoyed at the short fare, but the generous tip John handed him assuaged his irritation. John dragged Sherlock out of the cab, just as the detective hit a few last keys with an air of finality. Sherlock stood on the footpath and said, 'There. How did that go?'

John was on him.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock, determined to keep hold of the laptop, found that doing so occupied one of his hands. Since the other hand was thrust behind him in case he backed into something, this allowed John free rein to quickly undo his two top shirt buttons as he pushed Sherlock towards the door of Angelo's restaurant. They smashed into the door, John crushing his lips against Sherlock's, the laptop hitting the glass door with a crack but luckily not breaking the glass. All the patrons in the restaurant looked their way at the noise. The young waiter opened the door.

The two men stumbled in, Sherlock slightly off balance and still backing up. Angelo heard the ruckus and came out, then a broad grin spread across his face as he recognised Sherlock and John. Sherlock managed to extract his lips from John's for long enough to say to Angelo, 'Private room… now!' and Angelo laughed and opened a back room door for them, allowing John to push Sherlock through, then closed the door with a smile, leaving them to it. The young waiter gave Angelo a round-eyed look, and commented, 'Bit different from the last time they came in here.'

Angelo shrugged and returned to his kitchen, whistling tunefully.

In the room, John had Sherlock's coat and scarf off already, and snatched the irritating laptop from Sherlock's hand and was about to drop it when Sherlock said, 'No! No, we might need it!' and grabbed it back and put it gently on the small dining table. John glared at Sherlock's shirt and grabbed it on both sides, then pulled, popping all the rest of the buttons in a single move. Sherlock began to laugh, and John grabbed his hair, and said, 'Shut up, just shut up. I want you. What the hell did you do to my programming? God, I want you.'

'Tweaked it a little. You're not gay, but-'

'I'm not? I think we could have fooled Angelo,' chuckled John, 'Wait, I'm not? What the devil is this then? I want you so bad I can taste it, Sherlock.'

'Yes, that's the tweaking I referred to,' smiled Sherlock, then gasped as John tugged the shirt off him, a little roughly, and started working on his trousers. John began growling and Sherlock put his head back slightly and said, 'Oh, John,' as the trousers and pants came off. He stood naked before John, and John looked around wildly, assessing the room for the first time. He pushed the small table to the side and pulled the cushions from the dining booth on to the floor, then picked Sherlock up and deposited him gently on the cushions, 'Sherlock… you reprogrammed me, right? So there's no need to ask you if you want this," said John.

'Of course not.'

'Just checking. Tell me, okay, tell me if things are getting out of hand, or too fast for you, okay?' warned John.

'Yes John. Oh….. yes John,' the final comment being when John began to take soft nips at Sherlock, starting at the neck and working quickly down his stomach. Sherlock groaned as the nips changed to gentle kisses, then he gasped as John moved his mouth down to engulf Sherlock's bobbing hardness in his mouth. Sherlock arched up and breathed, 'Oh God yes, oh John… yes, oh please…. yes!'

'Shut up, will you?' asked John, and Sherlock surprisingly, did. Although he couldn't resist one last sigh of contentment, 'Finally…..' as John began to suck at him and lick him, with amazing skill. (Too damned amazing. Sherlock didn't want to think where John had gained the bulk of his programming from). The detective sighed, then lay back on the cushions and let John go to work on his body.

And John did, with enthusiasm. He pumped Sherlock rhythmically with his mouth until Sherlock felt himself tightening up, 'John, look out, you're going to make me…. ah… oh….' John released him just as Sherlock could have sworn that nothing could stop him from coming, and climbed up to kiss the detective. Sherlock, gasping, realized that he had not climaxed, pulled his mouth away to ask, 'Aren't you going to undress?'

'Hadn't thought of it,' admitted John, and then Sherlock realized that John's fingers had drifted down and wrapped gently around his balls, palpating them maddeningly. Sherlock felt the cool fingers drift further back, tickling him slightly, then twirling lazily around his entrance, until one paused for a second, pressing against him, then slid just inside him. He moaned, and pressed himself up against John, kissing him frantically.

John hesitated and Sherlock growled, 'What? Don't tell me Mycroft…' he tried to sit up, looking towards the laptop, but John pushed him back gently but inexorably, then looked closely at him.

'No, not Mycroft this time, Sherlock, me.'

'What?'

'Look, I'm obviously okay with this, because you programmed me, but really, Sherlock, I'm a machine. Are you sure you're alright with it? Are you going to be alright afterwards?'

Sherlock smiled and touched John's cheek affectionately, 'You already answered your own question, John: I programmed you for this. So of course I'm okay with this.'

Sherlock was rewarded by a leisurely, passionate kiss, then he felt the return of the finger, and it was joined by a second, then a third finger, opening him, relaxing him, pushing further in… 'Gnaaaaaaah!' he cried out.

'Prostate?' asked John with a smile.

'Oh, Christ, yes. Do it again.'

'I have a better idea,' replied John, and released his own trouser zip, pulled off his trousers and pants and gave himself a swift stroke, down and up. Sherlock realized, 'Self-lubricating?'

'I'm a combat model designed to work in Afghanistan, a desert environment. Of course I'm self-lubricating, everywhere,' John pointed out mildly. Sherlock smiled, then gasped as John lined himself up and pressed onto Sherlock's entrance.

'One last time,' asked John, 'You're okay with this?'

'Yes, yes, oh, yes, pleeeease, John, just…. please.'

John smiled and pushed forwards, capturing Sherlock in a kiss and gazing deeply into the pale eyes, which glazed over as John gradually entered him. John hesitated as Sherlock said, 'Oh….' but then the detective nodded and John arched his body up, then drove himself gently and slowly into Sherlock. Sherlock's mouth dropped into an 'O' and stayed there, and his eyes closed in bliss as he felt himself slowly filled. John watched in utter fascination the play of emotions over the detective's face, then asked softly, 'Are you alright?'

'Oh, God, I'm in heaven….' moaned Sherlock.

'I'll take that as a yes, then.'

'Yes, yes, oh absolutely yes…' said Sherlock.

'I'll try moving, shall I?' asked John, and at the detective's nod, began to pull out slightly. Sherlock bit his lip, but John noticed and pushed in again, and Sherlock's head flew back and his mouth fell open. He moaned loudly.

'Good?' asked John.

'Good, yes, good, very good. Keep doing that,' panted Sherlock, so John complied.

Sherlock threw his head back again, his thoughts misting out into a fog of pleasure as John began to pump into him slowly but steadily, and the detective began to mutter an almost unintelligible stream of approving words, interspersed with the word, 'John' many times. John himself was having trouble coping with an alarming volume of new input… he did not realize that his pleasure receptors could accept so much information per nanosecond, and he did not understand how looking at Sherlock's face while he felt that pleasure increased it exponentially, but he was rather pleased with the result.

Then Sherlock's body began to tense and arch, and John felt something change in his programming, as his body began to pump so wildly into the detective's that he was afraid he would hurt him, and for a moment as Sherlock's body lifted off the cushions, and he cried out, a primal cry of something that John couldn't identity, John thought he had injured the detective. But seeing Sherlock climax did something strange to his own mind and suddenly the pleasure became a searing white heat frying all his synapses and it was overwhelming, so that he thrust himself forward one last time and felt something warm pour out of him into the detective.

John was still thrusting, little aftershocks of pleasure driving his body forwards into Sherlock's, when he began asking frantically, 'Are you alright, Sherlock are you alright, please God tell me you're okay.'

Sherlock muttered something.

'What?' asked John, his alarm peaking.

'Fine,' Sherlock managed to gasp, then reached a weak hand up to pull John into a lingering kiss, 'Oh, Christ, John, that was… I am so keeping you.'

John grinned, relieved, 'I thought I might have hurt you.'

'You could have killed me, and I wouldn't have cared,' smiled Sherlock.

'Don't say that.'

'Seriously, that was the best….' Sherlock chuckled and pulled John back to kiss him again.

There was a knock on the door, and Angelo's voice asked, 'Did you lads want dinner?'

John and Sherlock looked at each other, then burst out laughing.


End file.
